I never knew her name until just recently. A fine looking woman. The fine was mostly in the eyes. I like hirsute strong women. Sometimes I'm not sure what they look like. Hoodlin had it all. I spotted her in the back of the cootie bus. A woman in the front of the bus was yelling "Hoodlin, hey Hoodlin."
Hoodlin responded. Now I knew her name.
The bus rolled down the hill through the S turn centered with a four pillar concrete bridge draped over Chocolate Run. Chocolate run was the eastern border of my grandfather's property. It widened out in his low grounds into a salt lick. In the depression era Hoover diggers deepened the channel and messed up everything. Grandpa liked to sit on the hill and watch the critter's that came from miles around to lick on salty rocks.
Today was the Fourth of July. The bus of people were friends of cooties and cooties. Cooties are an honorary group of people who were prisoners of was. They are sponsored by the local VFW post. My Grandfather Curley was a post Commander and plank member of the First VFW post which came out of Cleveland, Ohio. Most people think that Post number 1 was the first post—wrong. They were the first to determine they needed a number.
Grandpa Curley put on a hell of a picnic. He caught all of the northern Pike from Lake Erie. Grew the new potatoes. Grew the corn. Caught the snapper turtles up Eagle Creek by diving out of his Old Town canoe. Grandpa caught them by the tail and flipped them into his canoe. They got an upside down ride to their new home, shaded barrels of creek water along the grape arbor.
He did his cooking on a large stone fireplace that had steel plate covers for cooking corn and potatoes. The fish was fried in metal kettles over the hottest part of the fire.
After the eating the men retired to the edge of the grape arbor area. This location gave them a good shot at the cherry trees. Most of the cherries were done. Curley had a late producer next to the grape arbor. The select group of men had two things and both smoked. They had their favorite pistol and either a cigar or pipe to smoke.
My father and his brother and his dad-Curley all had lugers. My dad had got all of the lugers from the Germans during world war two. He was a medic and used his ambulance to bring back war items. The guys on the front lines had plenty of lugers, cameras and burp guns. No way to get them in rear with the gear and then mailed back. My dad was the connection. He sold most of the collection while I was still a young lad. I got to play with the burp gun and lugers. Dad loved that burp gun he used it to chop down trees. He traded it for a speed boat that lasted one summer before he wrecked it.
Hoodlin has not been forgotten. I watched her all day. I knew everything about her by watching her mannerisms. I thought I did. I knew I was ready to make my move.
Hoodlin sat down in the grape arbor area. I moved in for the killer opening statement. I sat beside her. She looked at me and smiled. I said, "Hi"
